


Men of Honor

by citrinesunset



Category: Inception
Genre: Community: i-reversebang, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is trapped in a dream, caught in a battle of endurance with rival extractors. But when Eames appears, offering aid, Arthur isn't so willing to trust him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men of Honor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/profile)[**i_reversebang**](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/), for [](http://darkknighting.livejournal.com/profile)[**darkknighting**](http://darkknighting.livejournal.com/)'s artwork, which you can see [here](http://darkknighting.livejournal.com/3787.html). Thank you to [](http://got-quiet.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://got-quiet.livejournal.com/)**got_quiet** for betaing and for the helpful feedback, which I have done my best to address in my revisions.

Arthur was lying by the pool, letting the midday sun beat down on his eyelids, when a shadow passed over him, blocking the light and heat.

"You're in my sun," Arthur said without opening his eyes.

"Never took you for the tanning type. This is how you get skin cancer, you know."

Arthur opened his eyes. Eames was standing over him. With the sun against his back, he seemed to glow, as though his smug face was framed by a halo.

Arthur wished he was more surprised to see someone he recognized.

"Right, because you're not looking tan at all." Arthur sat up in his chair and look off his sunglasses. He was going to play it cool. "I appreciate your concern, but we both know I'm not at risk of sunburn here."

Eames sat down on the edge of the lounge chair next to Arthur's. "That's true. So, you _are_ aware this is a dream."

"Did you think I wouldn't be able to tell? Honestly, Eames, I'm disappointed. If you're behind this, I would have expected better."

"Oh, I'm purely here as a neutral party," he said, smiling. "I suppose you could say I'm a hostage negotiator."

Arthur glanced over Eames' shoulder. There was a man, one of the guys from the extraction team, sitting at a table on the patio that was perhaps fifty feet away. He was pretending to read a newspaper, but Arthur knew better.

They'd been observing Arthur for two days. How couldn't be sure how long it'd been in real time. A few hours, maybe, depending on the compound they'd used on him.

With a short nod in the direction of the extractor, Arthur said, "I thought hostage negotiators were supposed to work with the hostage takers. Not the hostage."

Eames shrugged. "Well, this isn't a typical situation, is it? But I'm glad you know it's a dream. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to break it to you."

Arthur trembled. The simmering anger he'd squashed down was quickly turning into a temptation to punch Eames in the face. He took a deep breath instead.

"You know," he said, "I wondered if I knew any of the assholes who were behind this. I would have expected better. It's insulting, you know. You thought I wouldn't be able to tell, that I hadn't done all these tricks before?"

"You're mistaken. I'm not working with them. Told you, neutral party."

"Oh yeah, and you just happened to be around? How long have I been under, anyway? A few hours?"

"Give or take. After one of them got killed, their boss started to get nervous."

"How about I kill the rest of them?"

There were at least four other extractors, maybe five. It was a big team. He suspected they had a forger. What if Eames had been their forger all along? There was no way of knowing.

"Then you'll be asleep and they'll be awake. Not a good tactical position, is it?"

"I could kill myself any time."

"Sure, but you won't. They know that."

Arthur frowned. He looked again at the extractor on the patio.

"They have me sedated, don't they?"

"Yep."

At least now he knew. It made things easier in a way. Of course, it was possible that killing himself would be fine. If the sedation was light, he might not drop into limbo. But it was a risk he couldn't take, at least not after the Fischer job.

"So, why are you here?"

"The man performing this operation believes I can get you to give up the information they want. He wants me to convince you that it's in your best interest to end this peacefully and quickly. There's enough time on the clock to give you about three days of dream time. Why prolong things?"

"I've already lasted through two days. I can do one more. These assholes aren't going to hurt me."

"No. But if they don't succeed, they'll keep you sedated and try again. I've warned them that it won't work. You'll figure out you're dreaming again, and there will be an even bigger stand-off. But they're determined, this lot."

"And how do you know all this if you're not involved?"

"I was approached about an hour ago, told it was an emergency. I couldn't exactly say no, now could I?"

"If you weren't already working with them, how did they find you so quickly?"

"We're all staying in the same hotel, remember? At a place identical to this one, actually. The detail is really exquisite, you know. They invested a lot of planning into fooling you."

Arthur remembered, but it was vague, like a dream he was trying to remember. He hated how fuzzy everything was. He'd thought he had too much experience with shared dreaming to get confused like this. But knowingly entering into a dream was entirely different than being drugged and put under without his knowledge. He knew anyone would tell him that it was impressive enough that he'd realized what was going on so quickly. But his lack of memory just made him feel inadequate.

He could remember arriving at the hotel a few days ago. There was a four-day convention on PASIV technology. Most of the guests were scientists, architects, chemists, and defense contractors. Legitimate business people. But it wasn't that difficult to fake some credentials. Arthur was attending as a PhD candidate in neurology.

He hadn't remembered Eames. But now, looking at him, a memory came to him. He'd been at the front desk, checking in, when he turned and saw Eames coming through the door. As Eames walked to the elevator, their eyes met for an instant before Eames looked away. There had been no further acknowledgment.

He hadn't been surprised. There were always extractors at conventions, and he'd taken for granted that he would see someone familiar. He hadn't given Eames' presence much thought.

The extractors who had him trapped now where completely unfamiliar to him, but he supposed they were also attending the convention. He'd probably even seen them out of the corner of his eye. Maybe they'd been sitting behind him at the presentation about second-gen Somnacin.

"You mentioned a boss. Who are these guys working for?"

"Richard Valeria. He's primarily known for arms dealing, but lately—"

"I'm aware of who he is."

"Just trying to help jog your memory. So, do you know him? No one's given me the back story on this little mess."

"He hired me for a job a while back. I didn't give him what he wanted."

"What did he want?"

Arthur scoffed and shook his head. Eames probably already knew, and Arthur wasn't willing to be patronized. And if he really didn't know, then there was no need to give him too much information.

Eames waited a moment for a response, and then stood. "Well, this has been a great chat, but I need to confer with the other side for a minute. You know, if you talked to them, this whole ordeal could end very easily."

Arthur looked up at him. Eames' form was blocking the sun again. "You mean, give them what they want?"

"Is it really worth hanging onto?"

"Does it matter? It's the principle of the thing."

Eames shaded his eyes with his hand and looked around. "I'm surprised by the lack of projections. I would've thought they'd be swarming by now."

"They killed that one guy. But things have settled down."

"Well, just as long as you keep your subconscious in check while I'm in here."

"It's my _subconscious_."

Eames turned and left. Arthur watched until he disappeared into the hotel. Then, he pretended not to watch. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man who'd been tailing him follow Eames inside.

This was the first opportunity Arthur had where he was without a tail. He didn't know why they bothered to be subtle at all, at this point. Perhaps they still held on to some thin hope that he might not know he was dreaming. Perhaps they hoped he would inadvertently lead them to the information they were trying to get out of him. Maybe they were worried he'd try to kill himself. Arthur prepared himself for the worst, though. He kept waiting for them to give up and resort to some good old fashioned torture.

Arthur had been careful about losing his tail before. He didn't want to alarm them, and he didn't want to telegraph how much he was aware of his situation. But now that he'd been left alone, it gave him a chance to slip away.

His t-shirt lay across the back of the chair. He pulled it on, got up, and slipped his feet into his flip-flops. He walked quickly but calmly to the fence that surrounded the pool, and slipped out of the gate.

Ahead of him lay the beach and ocean. There were a few isolated figures—he projections—in the sand, sunbathing and playing with volleyballs. To his right was a gravel path. Arthur followed it.

The path led away the beach, and into the grassy hills that surrounded the hotel. Clouds had blown in, and the wind had picked up. Arthur wondered if it might storm.

After a few minutes, the hotel was entirely blocked from view by a hill. The path had taken Arthur up and away from the beach, but he could see the water to his left. There was no sound now except for the almost rhythmic thrashing of waves.

He didn't know where the path would take him, or how far, and that was what he wanted to learn. He walked on for several minutes. His toes were covered in the dirt and dust he kicked up. The terrain became steeper, until the drop-off to his left became a cliff. Arthur looked over the edge and saw the waves crashing on the rocks below. If he slipped, it'd mean instant death.

He could jump now, and there'd be no one to stop him. If the sedation was heavy enough, he would drop into limbo, but he'd be alone. It'd be his limbo.

He wished he'd had the nerve to question Cobb more about what it was like. Knowing would help him weigh the risks more.

But he knew he wasn't going to risk it now. He hadn't come out here to put himself in limbo. He was out here to learn his environment.

He walked on. The path grew steeper, and he had to work to keep his footing. One of his flip-flops fell off and he stepped on a rock. Cursing under his breath, he slipped his shoe back on and kept moving.

Arthur considered himself to be in good shape, but he felt like he had twenty-pound weights hanging from his ankles. The air around him grew hazy, and when he looked to his left he found that he couldn't even see the ocean anymore. He knew he couldn't be that high up. He hadn't been walking for nearly long enough. But each step was harder than if he'd walked for an hour.

His vision turned white, but whether it was his eyes or the fog, he couldn't tell. He squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them, he was staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room. He was on the bed. Arthur turned his head toward the window and saw clear blue skies.

He sat up and rubbed his forehead. He'd done it. He'd found the edge of the dream. Or one edge, at least.

The one flaw in dream architecture was that any maze an architect designed was finite. They could create a room, a house, a hotel, or even an entire city, but if you went too far, you would eventually hit the wall of the maze.

The dreamer could create new scenery instantaneously, if needed. It was an automatic, almost irrepressible response. But he was the subject. It wasn't his dream, and there was only so much he could change. And when the subject hit the edge of the dream, the mind just couldn't deal with the emptiness.

But he could learn his environment. Maze structures worked in extraction because the subject didn't know the layout. But any maze could be solved.

He looked around the room and realized that it'd been searched while he was gone. Drawers were pulled out the dresser. The bathroom door was open when he was sure it had been closed before. Even the bed sheets had been disturbed, as though someone has searched under the mattress.

As if Arthur's subconscious would hide his secrets in a hotel room.

 

* * *

 

When Arthur got tired of the confines of his room, he went downstairs to the hotel bar.

Arthur refused to stay holed-up for too long—he didn't want to appear intimidated, and he didn't want to make himself too easy to pin down.

He was nursing a gin and tonic when a familiar figure sat down beside him.

He was a broad, stocky guy with a little more flab than muscle. He had thick black hair and thick hands with short, hairy fingers.

Arthur was pretty sure he was the lead extractor.

The extractor ordered a Bloody Mary and then spoke to Arthur without looking at him.

"Has your friend convinced you to work with us?"

"If that's why he's here, he's not doing too great of a job."

"He helped break the ice. I think we both know we weren't getting anywhere before. We're professionals—we can deal with this civilly."

"You call drugging me and trying to fool me civil? If you respected me as a professional, you would have known better."

The extractor shrugged. "We gave it a try. Can you blame us? Knew it wasn't easy, but it would've been a feather in my cap if it had worked, wouldn't it? If your friend had been more helpful earlier, maybe it would've."

Arthur scoffed. "I'm really supposed to believe he's not working with you guys? Like that guy of yours who woke up just asked him to go under as some sort of hostage negotiator? Am I supposed to believe that?"

"Hey, I could say the same thing. How am I supposed to know he isn't lying, that he isn't working with you? You and I, we're in the same boat, here."

"Oh, are you drugged, too?"

"No, I'm on a deadline, from a powerful client. Something you can understand."

Arthur shook his head and took a sip of his drink. "It's not my problem you decided to work with Valeria."

"You worked for him once, too. You know how this business is—you do what people pay you to do. And you know clients like Valeria don't accept failure well." The extractor leaned closer to Arthur. "Look, we coulda gone after the other guy. Your old partner. But he has kids, and this seemed better. But if you don't give us what we need, we're going to keep trying. Valeria's got one of his men staying in another hotel nearby, and if all else fails, he'll take care of you and we'll go try your old partner, instead. But if you help us out, no one needs to get hurt."

Arthur looked around. His projections were starting to stare at them, sensing that something was amiss. He pushed his glass away and stood up.

"And if I tell you, there's no reason _not_ to kill me."

Turning around, he went back upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Arthur was lying on top of the bed when he was startled by a knock on the door. He got up slowly and tried not to make too much noise as he made his way to the door. Perhaps one of his projections was coming around to clean the room.

He looked out the peephole. It was Eames on the other side.

"How did you find me?" Arthur asked as he opened the door.

"What? No hello?" Eames pushed past him and into the room. "I figured your room was a good place to look for you."

"So what, did you talk to these assholes?" He decided not to mention the meeting in the bar.

"I did."

" _And_?"

"And there's nothing to be done unless you give them the information." Eames moved over to the bed and sat down on the edge without asking. He leaned back and braced himself on his arms. "It would help, you know, if you told me what this information is."

"Why don't you ask them?"

"I have, of course. But they're not any more helpful than you. Has it occurred to you that I don't really want to be here, either? That I went out of my way to _help_ you? I could have said that I have no idea how to make you cooperate, which is true. These men seem to be operating under the impression that I know you well enough to screw you over. I haven't corrected them."

"And I'm supposed to _thank_ you for this?"

"I told you I'm in here as a neutral party, but I think we both know that's not true."

"You're not here to help. You're here for whatever they're paying you."

Arthur walked over to the minibar in the corner and poured himself some scotch. It was impossible to get drunk in a dream, which would be a damn shame if he wasn't determined to keep his wits about him.

"And you really expect me to believe this story of yours?" Arthur asked.

"Story? I don't know what you're talking about."

Arthur glared at Eames over his shoulder. "You know damn well what I'm talking about. You just happened to be in the same hotel, and these assholes just happened to ask you to help after they fucked things up? You expect me to believe that? That's more insulting than this goddamn dream. Do you really think I'm this stupid?"

Eames betrayed nothing. No guilt, no anger. With a small shrug, he said, "And what _would_ you be able to believe?"

"You're working with these guys. You thought you knew me well enough to make me accept the dream as reality. But it didn't work, and now you're trying to make me trust you. You've probably been here all along."

Eames stood up and walked over to the window. He peered out at the sea. "Oh, you're far too experienced to accept this as reality. If I was working for them, I could have told them that. At the real resort, the chairs by the pool have red stripes. They don't here. Did you notice that?"

"Yes."

Eames smirked. "I thought so. Tell me, something: what difference does it make if I'm working with them or not?"

"From where I'm standing, it makes a hell of a big difference."

"But I can't convince you I'm not. You're too suspicious. I would be, too, if I were in your shoes right now. I wouldn't trust anyone. That's my advice for you."

"Thanks," Arthur said dryly.

"There really isn't much to do. One way or another, you're stuck in here for another couple hours. Another day of dream time, give or take. If you give them what they want, you'll wake up in your real hotel room as planned. If you don't, they'll keep you sedated, and keep trying. And each new dream will have a harder time fooling you than the last. These men are desperate. They blew it when you realized you were dreaming, but they're not giving up. It's going to end badly for them, but it could end a lot worse for you."

"If you're trying to get me to cooperate with them, it isn't working." Arthur said.

"On the contrary. I think you should do whatever you want. If you _don't_ cooperate, it doesn't matter much what you do. You could kill yourself if you want."

"And put myself into limbo?"

"If they get any more desperate, _they_ might put you into limbo. Desperate men are prone to thinking with their fists."

"I wish they _would_ fight me."

But he knew that wouldn't put an end to anything. Eames was right. The only ways out were cooperation and endurance. He'd stick with endurance.

Arthur downed another scotch just to feel the burn in this throat. He stood beside Eames and looked out the window. There were still projections on the beach, but from this distance they looked like miniatures.

It was funny—Arthur had never cared for the beach. Cobb did. He and Mal used to go all the time. But to Arthur, the immenseness of the ocean was disturbing. He liked swimming laps in the pool, where he always knew how far he was from the other side. He wondered how far out this ocean actually went. If he started swimming, how far would he make it before he hit the edge and found himself transported back into the middle of the maze?

It figured that he would find himself stuck here, in a near-perfect replica of a hotel he never would have gone to for pleasure.

He wondered what the chances were that Valeria's guy would actually kill him. He hadn't thought that far ahead, having only thought about the possibility of remaining trapped in a dream until the extractors got what they wanted. But now he realized that there was no guarantee that Valeria would let him live at the end of this. The fucking beach might be the last place he ever saw, and it wasn't even real.

"What are you going to do tonight?" Eames asked.

"I'm going to go to bed."

"You can't sleep in a dream."

He knew that, and it suited him fine. He didn't want to sleep.

Arthur poured himself another scotch and opened the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. He stepped outside and leaned on the railing. It was summer, and sunset shouldn't have been for another hour, but the sun was already starting to disappear below the horizon. One of many details that just didn't add up.

And they expected him not to notice? That was the worst part—the insult of it all.

He heard Eames step out onto the balcony behind him. Arthur gritted his teeth.

"I know your story is bullshit," he said.

"Is it?" Eames came up beside him and rested his arms on the balcony.

"You seriously expect me to believe you're not working with them? That they just asked you for help an hour ago? Just because this is a dream doesn't mean I'm going to buy whatever bullshit you feed me."

Eames didn't look at him. He kept his eyes focused on the sunset while he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, stuck it between his lips, and offered the pack to Arthur.

"No thanks. I'm trying to quit."

"Won't hurt you to do it in a dream," Eames said around his cigarette.

"Don't think I'll chance it."

He watched Eames flick ashes over the edge of the balcony. They were caught in the breeze and fluttered away.

Arthur was on the verge of kicking Eames out. But if he did, he would be alone. Being alone in a dream that wasn't his own was a strange thing. If the dream had been less real, it would have at least been interesting, or provided more of a challenge.

But this was like getting sick while on vacation. There was a whole lot of sitting around and very little to do. Only he couldn't relax, because the assholes that put him under might lose patience with him at any time.

He wondered where they were, now. Still searching, probably. He bet one of them was posted outside to guard him.

Eames had said there was enough time on the clock for another day of dream time.

"I hope I wake up before sunset tomorrow," Arthur said. "You don't know boredom until you spend a night standing watch in a fake hotel room."

"Care for some company?"

Arthur straightened up and stepped back into the room. He put his empty glass on the minibar and quietly made his way to the door. He looked through the peephole, but didn't see anyone.

He heard Eames close the sliding door behind him.

"You're right," Eames said. "I wasn't entirely truthful."

For a moment, he was quiet as though he awaited a response. But Arthur had nothing to say.

Eames continued. "Valeria approached me a couple weeks ago. He thought that since I'd worked with you before, I could plan an effective extraction. I told him I couldn't do it."

Arthur looked over his shoulder and sneered. "How come? I'm sure you could've gotten some good money."

Eames sat on the bed. "I knew there was no chance. You're too good at what you do to not notice the deception."

"You didn't warn me."

There had been so many chances. Eames could have written to him. He could have approached him that day in the lobby. Arthur would have done as much for him, if only because he had no reason not to.

"I didn't see any reason to get involved," Eames said.

"And yet, here you are."

"What can I say? I hated to see you stuck in this blunder of theirs." He walked over to the minibar and found a miniature bottle of vodka. He took off the cap and downed the bottle. Clearing his throat, he said, "What does Valeria want from you, anyway?"

"If I talk about it, it'll make it easier for the extractors to find it."

"The information is already in your subconscious. Doesn't matter what you say."

Maybe Eames was right. Deep down, Arthur knew the real reason he didn't want to talk: he couldn't trust Eames. Or rather, he could believe Eames' new, amended story, but he could never know if it was true.

Arthur leaned on the minibar. It could be worse. At least he knew what was _real_.

 

* * *

 

Waiting had always been one of Arthur's strong suits. He was patient. There was some peace in knowing that he was doing all he could.

The clock on the nightstand read nine-thirty, though Arthur was certain it had been different when he looked at it a second ago. Goddamn dreams....

Eames was lying on the bed, still in all his clothes. If the room were real, Arthur would tell him to take his shoes off. Eames had his arms folded under his head and his eyes were closed, but Arthur was certain he wasn't sleeping. He'd set his jacket over a chair in the corner, and Arthur wondered if he could rifle through the pockets quietly enough to avoid attracting Eames' attention.

Without opening his eyes, Eames said, "So, what will you do when this is all over?"

"You mean, if they don't put a bullet in my brain?"

"Are you staying for the convention?"

"I haven't decided," he said dryly.

He was going to get the hell out of there and warn Cobb. That was what he was going to do.

Arthur sat down on the other side of the bed and picked up the phone.

"What are you doing?" Eames asked.

"Calling for room service. Do you want anything?"

"You're not worried they'll drug your food?"

He wasn't worried, but he didn't say anything to Eames. He figured he was safe enough while he had Eames with him.

"What would you like?" Arthur asked.

"Whatever you're having."

"Two sirloins, it is."

"Not too shabby."

"Might as well. I'm not going to have to pay the bill."

Arthur made the call, and a half hour later there was a knock on the door.

When Arthur answered it, the room service delivery man was looking suspiciously at a man who lingering a few doors down. It was one of the extractors. The delivery man watched him for a few seconds before losing interest.

Arthur gave him a tip and wheeled the room service cart into the room. Eames had already gotten up and was sitting at a small round table in the corner.

As Arthur sat down, he said, "I wish I'd gotten a suite. When I booked my room, it didn't occur to me that I'd be stuck in a carbon copy of it."

"Not too late to remedy that, is it?"

"How? Go commandeer a suite?"

Eames shrugged. "If you want, sure."

Arthur scoffed and started to eat. It was a stupid idea. He didn't know what sort of disruption it would cause.

They ate in silence. When Arthur finished, he sat back and looked at the table.

After a minute, he took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's do it."

Eames looked up and dabbed his lip with his napkin. He raised his eyebrows.

"Let's go steal a suite," Arthur said. "I might be dead tomorrow, anyway."

 

* * *

 

After dinner, they took the elevator up to one of the top floors. They walked down the hall side by side, Arthur pulling his suitcase behind him.

"This looks like a good bet," Eames said, stopping in front of a door.

Arthur set his suitcase aside and knocked on the door.

After a moment, the door opened and a man in a suit stuck his head out. He had well-groomed white hair.

"Good afternoon, sir," Eames said. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid we need to move you to another room. The hotel will reimburse you for the inconvenience."

The man frowned. "What are you talking about? I paid for _this_ room."

Eames stepped closer, putting himself in the doorway. "Yes, yes. Unfortunately, we neglected to inform you that this room needs to be out of commission at the moment. We're still investigating the death."

"The _death_?"

"We have another room for you." Eames looked at Arthur.

Arthur pulled his keycard out of his pocket and handed it over to the man. "Again, we apologize for this inconvenience. Someone will bring your luggage down to you shortly."

The projection gave them a suspicious look. If the man didn't believe them, and tried to call the front desk, they'd be out of luck and would have to try another room. The man looked over his shoulder uneasily.

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "But I do expect compensation for this."

"We understand," Arthur said. "We've had to put you in a smaller room for now, but you'll have a new one by morning."

The projection looked at the keycard and said, "Let me grab my things. I'll take care of my own luggage, thank you."

A few minutes later, he was gone. Arthur and Eames stepped inside, and Eames took a look around while Arthur went into the bedroom to unpack.

Eames followed him and disappeared into the bathroom. From inside, he said, "Your subconscious isn't so difficult to work with. Maybe you should be worried about these extractors, after all."

"Yeah, I wouldn't bet on it. That old guy's probably going to complain to the front desk."

"I suppose I should have expected your projections to be uptight."

Arthur looked over his shoulder at Eames, who was leaning in the doorway to the bathroom. Glaring, Arthur said, "Who would you _expect_ to be staying in a suite like this?"

"Oh, I don't know. He didn't seem like the beachside hotel type to me."

"Neither am I, but here I am."

Eames took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. "Well, I say we find out what sort of liquor a suite like this gets you."

There was a bar in the main room, but Arthur wasn't interested. Now that he'd taken the suite, he didn't know what to do with it. It was really just a slightly nicer prison.

But in a small way, he'd taken control of the dream. That was worth something.

He hung up some of his shirts, but then decided there was no point in bothering with unpacking. He pushed his suitcase into the corner.

Eames came into the room, a glass in his hand.

"So," Eames asked, "what now?"

"I wait for this to end. What else?"

Eames took a sip of his drink. "You sure? There's a small chance these men will kill you. Could be your last chance."

Arthur scoffed. "For what? Getting a tan?"

It was too late for that, anyway. It was pitch black outside now.

"You could always bring someone up here. I'll even bugger off, give you some privacy."

"Yeah," Arthur said shortly. "I don't sleep with projections."

"You ever try it?"

Arthur didn't answer. It was none of Eames' business.

But yeah, of course he'd tried it. He suspected most people did, at one time or another. He didn't enjoy it.

When he didn't have a response, Eames said, "Well, there's always me."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I might die, so you're offering me sex? Generous of you."

Eames shrugged. "I try. So how do you want it? On the bed? In the shower?"

Arthur smiled despite himself and shook his head.

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime offer," Eames said. "I doubt we're going to find ourselves in a suite like this any time soon."

"Speak for yourself. After this, I deserve a vacation."

"Well, not together, at least."

Arthur didn't know how serious Eames was, and something about that unnerved him a little. If it was clear he was joking, Arthur could joke along. And if he was completely serious, it wouldn't be hard for Arthur to reject him. There was the strange mix of sincerity and sarcasm in Eames' voice, and Arthur had no idea what to do with that.

"What makes you think I'd sleep with you?" Arthur asked, keeping his tone lighthearted. "I don't even trust you."

"I didn't think there was anyone you _do_ trust."

Perhaps Eames was right about that. When it came down to it, it didn't matter much how Eames had come here, or if he'd been honest. It wouldn't be the first time Arthur had been lied to, or the biggest lie he'd been fed. Making friends in this world required a certain level of forgiveness and acceptance that his friends were just as dishonest as he could be.

"Anyway," Eames said, "you haven't told me anything since I got here. I think we're even."

Arthur fiddled with his shirt cuffs. He'd changed into a shirt and a pair of dress pants prior to coming up to steal the suite. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and sat on the bed. He hunched over and braced his arms on his legs.

"I haven't talked to anyone about this mess," he said. "Nothing against you."

Eames sat down beside him. "According to these guys, you did a job for Valeria about a year ago. You took his money but never gave him what he asked for."

"He paid for an extraction. Cobb and I did it. We told him the information wasn't there."

" _Did_ you find the information?"

Arthur hesitated. "If I tell you this, it's not because I believe you, or because you got it out of me. It's because if you _are_ working with them, you should know what you've gotten yourself into." He swallowed. "Yeah, we got the information. And if it gets out, someone will die. I know I've done some shitty things to people, but this is different."

"Who's going to die?" Eames asked softly.

"Valeria's wife. She took some money from him and disappeared."

"Can't say I blame her."

"No. Me neither." Arthur took a deep breath. "Cobb and I didn't know what we were getting into. We broke into her lawyer's mind and we found out where she went. So there it is—that's what you've gotten yourself mixed up in. Some woman just wanted to make a new life for herself."

Arthur took a deep breath. A weight was off him. He'd tried so hard not to think about it, but trying not to think of something was the surest way of dredging it to the surface.

"Don't say anything more," Eames said.

"Why not?"

"The extractor that woke up early—name's Anton—he told me to get the info out of you. To win your trust and get the information. I'm not saying I agreed, but I'm not saying I didn't, either. So don't tell me anything more."

"Why? Because you might tell him?" Arthur's heart was pounding, but he wasn't surprised.

"No, because you need to trust me, and if I let you tell me more, you'll wonder."

Eames draped an arm over Arthur's shoulders. He leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek like it was nothing. The contact felt so surprisingly good that Arthur almost missed the warmth of Eames' mouth after he pulled away.

As he sat back, Eames said, "How about we get ourselves out of this mess?"

Eames was asking him to trust him. To work with him.

With a shrug, Arthur said, "I don't have anything to lose."

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Arthur took out his die and cast it on the nightstand. It was a habit. He hoped he might have woken up and not realized it somehow, but the die still read the wrong number.

"And you're sure you'll be prepared to handle things topside?" Arthur asked.

Eames was behind him, putting on his jacket. "I'm ready as I'll ever be. We discussed it long enough."

They'd talked all night, but Arthur still thought there were too many uncertainties.

Arthur was going to handle the extractors. Eames was going to wake himself up to deal with things in reality. Arthur would have no control over that. He'd have no way of knowing what happened until he woke up.

Eames came up behind him and squeezed his shoulders. "Don't be so tense. It's almost over. We'll be celebrating over drinks in no time."

"Right."

Eames picked up a gun off the bed and offered to Arthur. "Will you do the honors, or should I?"

"Don't you think we should do it a little more quietly?"

"By the time they find me up here, you'll be far away."

Arthur nodded at the gun. "You do it. I'd better see you when I wake up."

Eames smiled. "You can plan on it."

Arthur took one last look at Eames and turned around. It'd be ridiculous to make a big deal over it. He knew Eames was the fortunate one, about to wake up. But until now, Arthur hadn't thought about how secure it had been to have a familiar face around. He'd done a good job of remaining nonchalant, even before Eames showed up, but now....

The bang of the gun made him flinch. His ears rang.

He had to get out of there fast. He needed to keep the extractors away from here, so they wouldn't find Eames and realize something was wrong. He rushed from the suite without stopping to look at Eames' body.

 

* * *

 

He almost ran into the lead extractor in the lobby. Arthur let himself be seen for a moment before slipping down a hallway and out a back door that led to the pool.

Another extractor, a tall, thin man, was by the pool. He was dressed appropriately in swim trunks and a t-shirt, and appeared to be keeping an eye on the area. Arthur again let himself be seen before turning around and going back inside.

If Eames' plan worked, he'd only have to keep them occupied for a short time. He told himself that Eames was awake by now.

He made his way over to the elevators. He saw the lead extractor just as he stepped inside, and locked eyes with him just as the elevator doors closed.

He just had to keep them busy so they wouldn't try anything.

Arthur rode the elevator up to the floor with his old room. From there, he immediately ducked into the stairwell. As he eased the door closed, he saw the doors of the second elevator open. The lead extractor and the tall man from the pool stepped out into the hall, but neither of them saw Arthur.

Arthur wanted to sprint down the stairs, but he couldn't risk the noise. With luck, the projection was still in his old hotel room and would give them some trouble if they tried to break in.

He made it down the first flight of stairs quietly, taking slow, deliberate steps. Then, when he judged it safe, he ran.

He looked at his watch—it'd been fifteen minutes since Eames shot himself. It shouldn't be much longer, and Arthur hoped he'd diverted the extractors' attention enough. With luck, the rest of the team would congregate near his hotel room.

Arthur made his way back outside and headed for the beach. He thought all the extractors were inside the hotel, and with luck, it would take them some time to make their way all the way to the beach in search of him.

There were a fair number of projections around, which made it safer. He didn't think any of the extractors would try anything too violent when he was surrounded by his own projections.

The ocean stretched out in front of him. Again, he wondered how far he'd be able to swim before he ran out of ocean. But if he went further down the coast instead, he could swim over to the rocks.

He was wearing his swim trunks already, and he sat down in an empty, clean spot of sand to take off his shoes. He looked at his watch—it'd been a half hour, now. If their plan worked, the dream should end any minute.

He was about to go out into the water when he saw an approaching figure in a conspicuous gray suit. The lead extractor had followed him somehow.

Arthur looked away and focused on the ocean. It was possible the man hadn't seen him. It was even more likely that he would stay back, giving Arthur the time he needed. Arthur took a deep breath and told himself that everything was working as planned.

But the extractor didn't stay back. He walked over to where Arthur sat, and stood beside him.

"What if I told you that your friend was working with us?" the extractor said. "Would you give up then?"

Arthur was silent for a moment. He considered what Eames had told him last night.

"I don't believe you. If he was, you wouldn't be telling me now."

He wondered if the extractor would dare follow him into the water. If he did, it would be conspicuous. The projections would notice.

Arthur was about to chance it when he saw the bottle.

It was a small wine bottle. Aside from being tangled in seaweed, it looked new.

It was new. Arthur had cast it into the ocean two nights ago, during a brief reprieve from being followed. Now, it was lying in the sand, half-concealed in the surf.

He tried not to look at it, hoping the extractor wouldn't notice it as long as he paid it no attention.

Slowly, the extractor walked toward it. Bending down, he picked it up.

The extractor held the bottle up to the sun. "There's some paper inside," he said conversationally. "A message in a bottle. How about that?"

"People are always sending them out," Arthur said casually.

"The tide brings them back." He locked eyes with Arthur. "Especially when they're a part of someone's subconscious. You shouldn't have come here. It was a mistake."

Arthur watched the extractor pull the cork from the bottle. The man tried to push a blunt finger inside to ease the papers out.

Arthur lunged. He pushed himself up unsteadily in the sand and threw himself at the extractor. The bottle fell from his hand and bounced toward the water, landing in the tide. The extractor pushed Arthur away and reached for the bottle.

"Goddamnit!" the man yelled. "Water's getting inside!"

While he tried to shake the water out of the bottle, Arthur jumped on him from behind. He wrapped an arm around the extractor's neck and squeezed. He was vaguely aware that the projections had noticed the fight and were starting to crowd around them.

The extractor thrust an elbow into Arthur's gut. Arthur held on, but the other man dropped the bottle, grabbed Arthur's arm, and hoisted him up and over his shoulder. Arthur landed on his side in the wet sand, and immediately scissored his legs around the other man's knees, toppling him to the ground.

Arthur reached for the bottle, determined to run with it or destroy it and its contents. He started to get up when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back. He fell into the oncoming tide and water rushed over his face.

As the water obscured his vision, the world faded.

 

* * *

 

There was a strange woman in the room when Arthur woke up. He was in a hotel room like his own, and she was sitting at the table typing on a laptop. For a moment, Arthur thought she was one of them. But when she noticed he was awake, she smiled.

"Eames," she said, "he's up now." She brushed her black hair out of her face and went back to work.

Eames came in from the balcony. "Ah, you're awake. Good thing—don't think I could have dragged you around any longer."

Arthur swallowed. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. "How long was I out?"

"Since I got you unhooked from the PASIV? About an hour. Don't worry—we're in a completely different part of the hotel. Dr. Wan is an old friend of mine. She agreed to take us in for a few hours. I did manage to retrieve your luggage—thought you might not want to return to your room."

Eames indicated a suitcase and a garment bag in the corner.

Arthur tried to talk, but he suddenly felt nauseous. He swallowed, got up, and hurried to the bathroom just in time to make it to the toilet.

While he still leaning on the toilet, he saw Dr. Wan out of the corner of his eye.

"It's a combination of the sedative they gave you, the Somnacin, and the effect of being taken out of the dream too early. It should pass within an hour.

Arthur flushed the toilet and said, "You're a doctor?"

"I'm a chemist," she said with a smile. "Close enough, huh?"

She left him alone, and Arthur pulled himself up. He found a paper cup and rinsed out his mouth, and then splashed water on his face. He remembered his die and dug it out of his pocket. With a racing heart, he tossed it on the counter. The number was right. He was awake.

Eames was sitting on the bed when he emerged from the bathroom.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Arthur asked.

"I disconnected you from the PASIV. I disconnected the extractors, too, but I tied them up. I don't imagine they've been found yet. If any of Valeria's men are around, they aren't here now."

"You didn't kill them?"

"You never said you wanted me too."

Arthur shook his head.

He needed to call Cobb and give him a heads up about what had happened. There was still some danger.

"I don't think we should stick around here," Eames said. "The sooner we leave, the better."

Dr. Wan looked up from her work. "I agree. I don't need a couple fugitives in my room overnight."

"I have a car downstairs," Eames said. "I'll get my things together. Meet me down there in ten minutes?"

"Yeah," Arthur said absently. "Sure." His head was fuzzy, but Eames was right—it was better not to stick around.

As Eames reached for the door, Arthur stopped him.

"Thanks," he said.

Eames nodded and stepped out into the hall.

As soon as he was gone, Arthur started to gather his things. He thanked Dr. Wan, accepted an anti-nausea pill from her, and headed downstairs. He was on full alert, keeping an eye out for a tail the whole time. But there was no one.

Once he was in the lobby, he thought about leaving alone. He had his own car. There was no reason to wait for Eames. Eames would understand if he came downstairs and found Arthur gone. Arthur was sure Eames would just as quickly to the same to him if it was advantageous.

But something kept Arthur glued to the spot. He was still there a few minutes later when Eames came downstairs, dragging a suitcase behind him.

"You ready?" he asked Arthur.

For a second, the old doubts came back. He still only had Eames' word about everything. Could the rescue have been faked? The lack of firsthand knowledge weighed on Arthur's head.

But then he brushed the doubts away. It occurred to him that he might never trust Eames completely, but that Eames would never be more worthy of trust than he was now.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's get out of here."


End file.
